Despite getting a full 4 hours of sleep last night, Peter was beyond tired. This past week had been hell, starting with the Vulture trying to crush him, May flipping out on him, Liz leaving, and ending with Peter turning down the Avengers. And yet, every shitty moment, every painfully chaotic and heroically idiotic moment had led him here. Had led him to this exact fucking moment. Sitting in the middle of the hallway, leaning against some dusty old lockers, his body slowly killing him while his mind relieved the events from the past week.
Peter groaned loudly, banging his head against the ugly green locker behind him once more as he spread his legs in front of him, hoping the cramped feeling clouding his body would evaporate. He swallowed as his stomach churned violently and he closed his eyes, crossing his arms over his stomach gently, carefully avoiding any bruising. He swallowed again, coughing slightly, trying to clear his throat, pressing his overheated back against the harsh metal behind him, letting the cold seep through his clothes. Peter? The 15-year-old smacked his head against the locker, wincing slightly as the bell echoed through the halls, covering his right ear with his shoulder, hoping to block out the noise. You’ll be okay…
It was after school… so no one was really here, but despite that, Peter pulled his hoodie over his head, hoping to look like he was sleeping so people would leave him alone. He brought his knees to his chest slowly and wrapped his arms around them tightly, pressing his head against his knees, squeezing his eyes tighter shut. He sighed softly, feeling his body beginning to relax, tomorrow’s Spanish quiz and Saturday’s debate looming in his mind as someone nudged his shoulder. The 15-year-old coughed, opening his eyes slowly to the bright spinning hall around him, blinking until his vision cleared and Ned’s worried face swam in front of him. Peter, you have to stay awake, okay?
Ned sat down next to him, sprawling his legs out in front of him, and pulled his backpack off his back, sliding it next to him. He sighed loudly as he turned back towards Peter, “Dude, you don’t look so good.”
Peter straightened a little, trying his best to look better than he felt as his head swam violently. He stretched his legs, aching exhaustion flooding through his bones as he tried to find any type of adrenaline he could and leaned back against the locker again. “I’m fine, Ned,” Peter whispered, pushing his red hoodie down, running a shaky hand through his hair. God, he was exhausted. The headache behind his eyes was pushing close to unbearable and not to mention, the small amount of food he had eaten in the last few days, was sitting heavy in his stomach.
“Yeah, sure you are. That’s why you look like you’re about to hurl,” Ned said, digging through his backpack, pulling out his phone. Peter groaned softly, “Don’t say hurl, man… I-I’m just tired.”
Ned nodded slowly, “Yeah, and I’m just the best friend of Spiderman…”
Peter pushed away from the locker, groaning internally as the cool metal left his burning skin and turned towards Ned, smacking him on the arm lightly, “Dude, keep your voice down.”
Ned shook his head as he opened Tumblr, pulling a small can of Pringles from his bag “There isn’t anyone here, Peter. You could literally run up and down the hall naked, and no one would care.”
Peter rolled his eyes as he pressed his head against the locker once more, closing his eyes, listening to the sound of a door slamming at the end of the hallway…
Peter groaned loudly as he pulled his mask from his head, stumbling into the tiny apartment, knocking over a vase. He winced as it hit the ground with a loud crash and he fell back against the door as his ankle twisted, no longer able to support his body. He pressed his back against the cheap wooden door, glancing at the clock, blinking slowly as the numbers swam viciously in black swirls before coming to a readable standstill. 11:50pm.
Aunt May would be home in less than 3 hours, and despite how much Peter wanted to lie on the floor he was currently residing on, he was pretty sure May would lose her shit if she came home to a half-beaten Spiderman bleeding out on her kitchen floor. The 15-year-old cried loudly as he pushed himself off the tiled ground, stumbling dangerously, gripping the edge of the couch as his knees threatened to buckle.
Peter placed a hand over his abdomen, daring to look down at the blood soaking into the Spiderman sweatshirt version of his suit. He cringed, feeling the warm liquid dripping down his leg, pooling on the ground below him. Shit. He was bleeding everywhere. He ran an aching hand through his hair, pulling out rubble and sand with his fingers as he limped towards the bathroom.
He smacked a bloody hand against the light switch, wincing slightly as light filled the tiny white bathroom, and sucked in a sharp breath as he glanced at his reflection…
Peter jerked awake, feeling something cool touching his forehead. He smacked at the object harshly, breathing even more so as he tried scrambling away. His stomach lurched violently, and he clenched his mouth shut as foul-tasting bile burned the back of his throat. He leaned forward slightly, resting his head on his knees, breathing shallowly as he tried to calm the nauseating feeling cramping in his stomach. Peter!
“Sorry dude, I didn’t mean to scare you… you’re really warm. You know that?” Ned asked softly, pressing his hand against Peter’s sweaty back. The teenager nodded slowly, turning to face Ned. There was no way in hell he was sick… he couldn’t be sick. He was Spiderman! And Spiderman didn’t get sick. Ever.
Something vibrated in his pocket and Peter flinched, letting out a soft sigh, realizing it was his phone. He pulled the small device from his pocket, groaning slightly as Tony Stark’s face filled his screen. Shit, that’s right… it was Thursday. Ned jumped, “No way! That’s! That’s! Peter! That’s Tony Stark!”
Peter sighed slowly, pulling his bookbag closer towards him, groaning as he tried pushing himself off the floor. The ground shifted beneath him and Peter slammed against the locker, his injured shoulder screamed loudly as the sudden force caused something to snap either back into place… or out. Peter, I-I don’t know what to do… Peter gulped as Ned pressed his hand against his shoulder, keeping him steady as the fading teenager tried to keep his balance.
The phone vibrated again, and Peter closed his eyes briefly, letting the dizziness subside as he raised a shaking hand to his ear, “H-hello?”
The 15-year-old cleared his throat, hoping to sound as normal and healthy as possible. Tony Stark never called him… which meant something was up. Peter felt a chill run down his spine. Not only was he fighting against the fatigue coursing through his body, but he felt sick… so, honestly, if Mr. Stark expected Peter to “suit up” along with him and the rest of the Avengers… the teenager might cry. Please be Happy… Please be Happy…
“Kid,” Stark mumbled through the phone, “I’m outside.”
Peter’s eyebrows scrunched up slowly as he tried to remember if he was supposed to meet with Mr. Stark after school today. It was Thursday, which meant Happy or Pepper would normally give him a ride home… but Tony Stark had only come to pick him up maybe once or twice, and neither time had been on a Thursday. This was important, but Peter hoped it didn’t require any extra effort or strength because he was lacking both right now.
He let out a loud sigh, wincing slightly as he pushed himself away from the locker, shaking Ned off gently. Ned handed him his backpack slowly as Peter pushed his phone into his back pocket, swallowing again. God, he felt like utter shit. His headache was spreading down his neck, stabbing behind his eyes in long painful bursts, and despite barely touching his PB&J at lunch, his stomach was twisting in nauseating knots. All he wanted to do was go home, crawl under his covers, and sleep the next few days away… unfortunately, Spiderman didn’t get sick days. There’s so much blood…
Peter sighed again as he took his bookbag from Ned, “Thanks, man.”
Ned nodded slowly, grabbing his own bag off the floor, “Anytime, dude. You know, you really really don’t look well, Peter. Maybe you should skip tomorrow’s practice for Saturday’s debate… or maybe you should just skip tomorrow all together. I mean, you almost died after homecoming Friday. Flash still wants to kick your ass, and MJ-”
Peter groaned loudly, running a shaky hand through his hair as Ned made his way towards the door. The 15-year-old had nearly forgotten about the 4-hour Decathlon practice tomorrow night. There was a competition on Saturday in New York against the Hawthorne Hawks… the rival school, and Peter had already made a commitment to attend considering he had missed the last two practices. He remembered the competition… just not the practice. Figures.
If Peter had thought the inside of the school’s hallway had been bright, then nothing could have prepared him for the vibrant hell that met him as Ned pushed out the school’s doors. The 15-year-old swallowed loudly, shielding his face briefly from the sun that pierced his eyes, his stomach threatening rebellion against the sudden change in light, and Peter closed his eyes momentarily, grasping the rail next to him as his body swayed slightly.
“…I mean, there was so much blood, dude. And besides, isn’t May out of town for a few days for a convention? Hey. Hey! Peter, you alright?” Ned asked.
The teenager pressed his lips together before opening his eyes as Ned’s hand connected with his shoulder. Peter nodded slowly before giving Ned a weak smile, pulling his bookbag closer towards his body, hoping the weight of it would keep him grounded. He nodded again, “I-I’m fine, Ned. Really. Just tired… I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
Ned sighed, letting his hand fall to his side as he glanced towards the shiny black Jaguar parked sideways in one of the spots next to the flag pole. Mr. Stark. He nodded towards Peter, giving him a small wave, “Okay, man. Hey! Also, look up that article I was telling you about. The one that theorizes what would happen to Spiderman if he encountered bug spray because of the genetic manipulation…”
Peter laughed softly, waving his hand over his head as he tried to tune out whatever Ned was yelling behind him. Because right now… right now, the teenager had bigger things to worry about besides Spiderman and bug spray. Peter, you have to stay awake, okay?
………………………………………………………………………………….
Having Happy Hogan pick Peter up every Thursday was nice. Most of the time, after the awkward small talk and muttered griping (from Happy), the car was filled with peaceful silence that Peter had come to appreciate over the past few months. With endless chatter at school, sometimes violent vigilante fights, and the pressure of growing up, it was nice to have some relaxing quiet time every once in a while… Besides, Happy was always there if Peter felt like talking.
And having Pepper pick him up every now and then was great. Most of the time, she waited outside the car, giant sunglasses on, always greeting Peter with a warm hug. Unlike Happy, she let him sit in the front seat and mess with the radio, pressing pretty much any button he wanted to. She always reminded him of Aunt May because she was motherly, asking Peter about his day, about girls, about everything… Peter loved when she came to take him home.
But having Tony Stark, of all people, pick him up, especially today, was torture. Any other given day, Peter would have been overjoyed and enthusiastic that Mr. Stark had taken time out of his day to come pick him up from school. Hell, he would have been so wound up, he wouldn’t have been able to sleep for at least a day… but today. Today, as soon as Peter opened the door and sat down, his fingers shaking as he tried to buckle his seatbelt, his headache pulsating, his stomach cramping, Peter knew. He knew this wasn’t going to be one of those days.
“Where’s Happy?” The 15-year-old muttered as he closed the door. He shifted slightly, dropping his bookbag between his feet, crossing his arms and praying, praying that he wasn’t expected to be the Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman today. Tony smirked, “Well, hello to you too, Underoos. And come on, what does Happy do that I don’t?”
Peter shook his head, leaning back against the black seat, agitation washing over him gently at the thought of potentially getting sick in front of Mr. Stark. Of not being able to control how shitty he felt before they made it back to his apartment, of making himself look weak; and honestly, it was agonizingly stressful. The teenager shifted again, pressing his knees against the dash slightly as he tried to get comfortable, and he let out a shallow breath. Peter, the metal… it’s really deep…
The leather was too warm against his skin, sticking to the overheated flesh as new sweat formed under his shirt and jacket. Peter leaned his head back, tightening his grip around his midsection as his stomach groaned. The new car smell wasn’t helping his stomach any, it was almost overpowering, sickening, heavily mixing with the half-eaten sandwich from earlier. The 15-year-old glanced around the compact car; it looked fancy, hell, it was fancy… and, it probably cost more than his whole neighborhood block. Peter had never been in here before. He had never been in any other car besides Happy’s or Pepper’s… even when Mr. Stark had come to pick him up before.
Tony cleared his throat, glancing towards the kid, “Seriously though kid, what does Happy do that I don’t?”
“For starters, he doesn’t park like an asshole,” Peter mumbled, looking down at the loose thread on the bottom of his jacket. He winced slightly as his words made it back to his ears slowly. He had never addressed Mr. Stark like that before, but for some reason, the teenager found Tony’s voice annoyingly unnerving. It was a constant reminder that Peter was in the car with him, and not someone he didn’t feel the need to impress. He just wanted to be left alone. Honestly, he just wanted Happy to be here instead. Peter shifted, sitting up slightly, biting his lip, “Hey. Mr. S-Stark. I’m sorry. I’m just- tired, I guess…”
Confusion crossed Tony’s face as he started the car, pulling out of the parking lot slowly. He stole another sideways glance towards Peter. He honestly didn’t care if the teenager had called him an asshole… truthfully, it was kind of refreshing to know Peter had it in him. But, something about the way Peter had said it, something about the way he had apologized, something about him, was off. Something Tony couldn’t place… then again, teenagers were weird. Tony sighed.
“Well... Happy said something about needing to go to his sister’s wedding. I guess he was giving a speech or something. And Pepper has the weekend off, in case you were going to ask,” He said cautiously. Peter nodded, closing his eyes slowly as exhaustion flooded his senses. He desperately wanted to go home, just like he desperately hoped he could skip patrol, or suit testing, or training, or whatever in the hell Tony had planned. Please take me home. Please take me home. Please…
A black bruise was painted across his left cheek and eye, connecting roughly with a nasty cut that tore through his upper lip, dried blood still visible around his nose and mouth. Black soot and dirt covered his face, the makeshift Spiderman costume torn and ripped, blood soaked through grimy clothes, dripping from wounds that refused to heal faster… Fuck! May was going to flip when she saw him.
Peter coughed loudly, feeling bloody saliva fill his mouth as he doubled over, clutching his side tightly. His knees buckled, and he smacked against the white porcelain tile, meshing a bloody hand against the cold ground as black dots danced in front of his vision once more. This wasn’t good! This wasn’t- he couldn’t breathe!
Saliva dripped from his mouth as Peter retched. He closed his eyes tightly as…
Peter.
Peter!
“Peter?” Tony asked, causing the teenager to flinch. Peter opened his eyes sluggishly, looking around half-dazed, as his surroundings slowly came into view, and that new car smell filled his nostrils. When had he fallen asleep? He clenched his teeth together tightly as he pushed himself into a sitting position. He struggled momentarily, his arms feeling like jelly as they were forced to push his body upright, his hands shaking slightly as they grasped the seat, looking for something to use as leverage. His right side burned fiercely as his shoulder threatened to rebel again, “W-what?”
“You alright, kid? You were falling asleep on me. Too many late nights patrolling? Maybe you should take a-” Tony started. He didn’t feel the need to mention the kid had been muttering in his sleep, or that he seemed distressed… if Peter wanted to talk about it, then he’d talk about it.
“I’m fine, just- Mr. Stark, why did you pick me up today?” Peter mumbled, twisting slightly so his head was leaning against the cold window, his arms covering his stomach once more. His knees mashed together harshly, reminding the teenager of the pale green bruises that had slowly begun to fade, covering his legs. He swallowed thickly, stifling a sickening burp under his breath, trying to focus on his breathing as his stomach churned. He wanted to go home. He wanted to lie down. Hell, he wanted May so she could at least try to make him feel better… because with the way this whole week was going, Peter was probably in for a rough night. The 15-year-old closed his eyes once more, scrunching his eyebrows together as he tried to focus on anything, anything besides the car’s smell, Tony’s reckless driving, or the pounding behind his eyes.
“So,” Tony cleared his throat, “Since your Aunt is gone for a few days and she asked me to babysit you, I thought you could spend the next few days at the Tower. We could look over some new designs I had for your suit… maybe order a pizza, or whatever it is children like these days.”
Despite a small wave of excitement washing over him at the idea of spending the weekend in the Stark Tower, Peter felt his skin crawl. The thought of having to move around, the thought of having to try on his suit repeatedly for new designs or having to pretend that he wasn’t close to the worst week of his life, was too much right now. It was all too much right now… Calm down, calm down…
He coughed softly, opening his eyes, squinting against the swaying black interior, “I-I’m not a child. And my suits fine.”
Tony raised an eyebrow as he came to a stoplight, “Ok…”
Awkward silence filled the small space, and for a while Peter was relieved to have some quiet. He stared out the window, feeling his tired aching body beginning to relax, feeling his body begin to drift. The teenager fought against consciousness as he struggled to keep his eyes open.
…Tears streamed down his face as he reached down, feeling a metal shard protruding from-
“Look kiddie, you sure you’re alright? I mean, I’m not good with people, especially kids, but I can tell when som-” Tony started, turning his left blinker on and letting a car pass before he turned. Peter jerked, looking towards Mr. Stark groggily, before turning back toward the window, pressing his head harder against the glass, hoping to force out the headache. The 15-year-old rolled his eyes, curling in on himself slightly, “Just leave me alone.” Please, Mr. Stark.
“What’s your problem today?” Tony asked lowly, agitation and anger beginning to flow through him. Peter swallowed, blinking slowly before turning to stare out the window, meshing his hands against his elbows as cold sweat broke out across his body. He shifted uncomfortably as the car took a sharp turn, trying to readjust the t-shirt that was beginning to plaster itself to his body. The 15-year-old eyed Tony from the corner of his eye as the car took another quick turn, cars honking behind them as Tony cut off the driver of a Taxi. By now, Peter would be apologizing, shit, he wanted to apologize, but right now… right now, Peter felt sick, and he wasn’t in the mood to play 20 questions or figure out why everyone was asking if he was “alright.” Because honestly, he didn’t feel alright… he wasn’t alright…
Tony turned to see Peter staring out the front windshield, a scowl plastered to his pale face. The older man let out a loud sigh, turning back towards the road. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, feeling his blood pressure still rising. Pepper and Happy both warned him about being too harsh on the kid… especially if he wasn’t in the mood to take it. Tony stole another sideways glance towards the boy. It’s true he wasn’t great with kids, or people for that matter, and it was taking him way longer than it should to figure out what was off about Peter. It’s just something… Peter wasn’t his usual self; his happy, excitable, pop culture reference, nerdy self today… Maybe the kid was telling the truth, maybe he was just tired.
Tony took a long breath, “Peter, your Aunt May-”
“Doesn’t like you,” The teenager finished, flinching slightly as the words left his mouth. He knew he was being annoying, just like he knew he was beginning to irritate Tony, and yet, he just couldn’t stop. This wasn’t like him… But, maybe it was easier for Mr. Stark to be mad at him right now, than it was for Peter to pretend that everything was okay… pretend that he felt okay.
Tony slammed on the brakes slightly as a car stopped in front of him, “Okay kid, cut the crap! What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing! Look, can’t you just leave me the fuck alone,” Peter shot up quickly, ignoring the nausea coursing through his body as he pushed away from the sticky leather, “You just- you always treat me like I’m some fragile child! You and the rest of the team, like, like I’m not good enough. I’m 15! I can take care of myself, I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember, and I don’t need a babysitter, especially one who honestly only cares about getting into May’s bed! I can’t keep wondering when you’re going to take the suit away next, or if, if you’re going to believe me next time another villain shows up. Look, I’ve had a fucking terrible week, so just fucking lea-”
He paused, taking a shallow breath as warmth spread through his body and he doubled over, pressing his hand tightly over his stomach as the muscles in his abdomen clenched tightly. Shit! Shit! Breathe Peter, just- Peter! I- I need you to help me through this! The teenager swallowed loudly, pressing his other hand against the dash, hoping the hot smooth leather would keep him grounded, would keep him from getting sick as Tony turned sharply, his knuckles white against the black steering wheel.
“Listen kid, I took the suit from you to teach you a lesson, but I gave it back. I don’t know what your fucking problem is today, but just because you’re all hero now, doesn’t mean you can cop an attitude with me. If that’s how you want to play this out, then I can just drop you off at home for the weekend to sit and mope there alone,” Tony growled. Despite every instinct in Tony’s body telling him that something was off, that something was wrong, the older man gripped the steering wheel harder, anger and frustration coursing through his body. If the kid didn’t want to discuss this like adults, then he could go home and act like a child.
“Pull over,” Peter breathed, feeling warm saliva flooding his mouth, the remaining taste of PB&J lingering on his tongue, and he swallowed thickly. He closed his eyes tightly as sweat dripped down his temple and pressed his hand harder against the dashboard. Please don’t throw up. Please don’t throw up. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spiderman…
“You want to walk the remaining 10 blocks to your apartment? Fine. Look kid, I was just trying to be nice and I thought we could spend some quality time together by upgrading your suit. But obviously I was wrong-” Tony continued, passing a parked bus.
“Mr. S-Stark, please, I-” Peter coughed as bile climbed his throat, burning the back of tongue as he desperately tried to swallow down the inevitable. He whimpered loudly as his body pitched forward, constrained against the seatbelt, pressing against his stomach as the car came to a sudden stop. Peter squeezed his eyes together tighter as he heard Tony curse, tears flooding his eyes as his stomach groaned and he pitched forward again, feeling the warm liquid soaking into his socks, pants, shirt… hell, it was probably all over his backpack too.
The car started moving again, slower this time, but Peter kept his eyes shut, not daring to open them towards the disgusting scene, knowing it was probably just as bad as it smelled. His hand slid against the dash and he pressed it to his mouth, swallowing against the remaining saliva, listening to the soft hum of the engine as the car slowly pressed forward before coming to a soft stop. He bit his lip, sucking in another breath, gagging harshly as the car’s engine died, and Peter felt a hand on the back of his neck.
“Fuck!”
The teenager flinched as Tony’s loud voice filled his ears, and he slowly opened his eyes, tears instantly falling as he looked down at the vomit splattered across the floor, the dash, himself. He felt miserable. No, he felt like death. And yet, the only thought that crossed his mind as he tried to keep his composure was the fact that he had just ruined one of Mr. Stark’s very expensive cars.
Tony glanced towards Peter again, biting his lip as angered frustration flooded his mind, and he sighed loudly before forcing his door open, and getting out. He ran his hand over his face, pushing his hair back slightly as he stared towards the 24/7 convenience store he had pulled into. He should have known… he really should have guessed. He knew something was wrong with the kid, and yet, it had taken Tony up until Peter had vomited all over the damn car before it finally clicked with him. The kid was sick. The kid was sick… how was that even possible?
Tony bent down towards his open door, watching the kid momentarily as Peter struggled with his seatbelt. He sighed again before pushing his hands in his pockets and mumbling, “I’ll be right back.”
The older man turned towards the small store, a million questions racing through his mind. Should he call Pepper? Should he call May? Fuck, should he call Bruce? What was he going to do with a sick kid? He couldn’t just take him to his apartment and leave him to defend for himself… could he? What if Peter got worse? Did he need medical attention? How do you even take care of a sick kid? How was Peter even sick? Didn’t his Spider-whatever cover that?
Tony pressed his hand against his forehead, rubbing away worried stress before taking off his sunglasses. He turned towards the cashier, smiling slightly, before turning back towards the small row of medicine that lined the metal shelves. Would any of these even work on him? Tony sighed again, putting his hands behind his head as he glanced towards the window, scanning the parking lot slightly when he spotted Peter’s open door. He moved to his left, overlooking a leaning tower of hats before his eyes landed on the teenager, a few feet from the car, leaning against a brick wall as he puked again. Tony clenched his fists. He really should have known.
“Can I help you, honey?”
Tony jumped slightly, turning to face the cashier who was now standing a few feet from him, placing a few cans of soup on the shelf. She smiled warmly, pushing her glasses up slightly as she set down a small can. Tony turned back towards the window briefly, relieved to see the kid sitting down on the curb, before turning back to face her. He glanced down at her nametag: Marlene. He ran another hand through his hair, “Uh…”
Marlene glanced over his shoulder, nodding towards Peter, “Is your son alright?”
Tony swallowed. He wasn’t really sure what to say because he wasn’t really sure what he should be doing. He felt lost. He felt useless. He shook his head slowly before sighing, “I-uh, I’m not good with kids. His Aunt is out of town, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. He’s sick- he just threw up in my car, and he has this fever. Normally, I’d have Happy or Pepper sort this out for me but I, I don’t know… what to do…”
The woman laughed softly before turning and walking towards the fridge. She shifted a few things around before pulling out a small can and grabbed a few paper towels from behind the counter. She turned towards Tony, giving him another warm smile, “Are you coming?”
Tony nodded, shoving his hands back in his pockets as he followed her out the door. Yeah, he was completely useless.
……………………………………………………………………………………
Peter pressed his cheek against his arm, letting tears fill his eyes again as he watched the busy streets of Queens drive past him. He sniffed loudly, trying to work around his stuffy nose, trying to slow his breathing enough that the nausea would subside. Despite feeling significantly better since he stumbled out of the car, he still desperately wanted to lie down. But lying on hot, dirty concrete that was splattered with the remnants of his stomach and most likely someone’s urine, didn’t seem like a great idea. The 15-year-old wiped his nose on his arm, shivering slightly as the wind breezed passed him, gluing his already soaked shirt to his sticky body.
“Hey, kid.”
Peter glanced up slowly, squinting against the harsh sun hanging above him as tears filled his eyes as Tony’s face wavered above his. He swallowed slightly, trying to swallow passed the lump in his throat as he opened his mouth to apologize for the mess, for everything, before letting out a loud sob, tears falling from his eyes. He flinched slightly as Tony kneeled next to him, putting his hand out as if to comfort him before thinking better of it and sighing loudly. Peter coughed, tears flooding down his cheeks, dripping from his chin, mixing with the mess he had caused as he glanced towards the other person squatting before him. Confusion crossed his tired mind momentarily as he looked back over at Tony.
“Mr. S-Stark, I-I’m so sorry,” Peter choked, looking down at his hands, still sticky with the contents of his stomach. He had tried to clean them off, but it didn’t help that both his shirt and pants were disgusting. Tony sucked in a breath as the kid sobbed harder, glancing towards Marlene, hoping she could help in some way. He really wasn’t good with kids, much less crying ones.
“I-I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll clean it up. Please don’t be mad, please don’t take away the internship,” The teenager breathed, coughing roughly as Tony turned back towards him. Tony clenched his fist harshly, letting his nails dig in to the rough skin coating his palm, his breathing catching as Peter continued to apologize. The kid thought he was mad at him? For this!? And despite everything, he thought Tony would punish him by making him clean up his mess, or even by taking away something the kid had earned? Tony opened his mouth, trying to find the words, trying to grasp onto something, anything that could make Peter feel better.
Marlene scooted closer, grabbing one of Peter’s hands gently, “Oh, honey. Your father isn’t mad at you. He knows this isn’t your fault. He’s just worried.”
Peter turned towards her, wiping roughly at the tears still streaming down his face as he struggled to concentrate on her words, “What?”
“Sweetie,” She said softly, reaching for some of the paper towels before wiping at Peter’s hands carefully, “Despite what you might think, he isn’t mad.”
Tony looked towards the street, his face reddening slightly as a few pedestrians walked by slowly, lowering their sunglasses to get a better view. The older man glanced back at Peter, smiling slightly as his eyes met Peter’s briefly. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and clasped his hand over the small device, willing it to stop, because this… because Peter… was more important right now.
Peter glanced down at his hands, “…I ruined his car.”
Tony snorted. Yeah, the kid had done a number on it… but ruined it? Hardly. Besides the damned thing had seen a lot worse than vomit over the past year or two.
The woman laughed slightly, smiling up at Tony before grabbing the small can she had retrieved from her fridge. She popped the top and handed it to Peter, “Slow sips, honey. It will calm your stomach… and nerves.”
The teenager reached for it cautiously, glancing towards Tony as if asking if it was okay. Tony nodded slowly before reaching out and pressing his hand against the boy’s forehead. He was still really warm… but at least he was calming down.
Marlene sighed softly, “I can’t tell you how many things my boys thought they had ruined. The truth is, Sweetheart, your father loves and cares about you more than his car. Even if it doesn’t seem like it… even if he seemed mad.”
Peter swallowed loudly, his face turning red as her words echoed in his head. He wanted to correct her, to tell her that Tony wasn’t really his father, but for some reason, the words were stuck in his throat, unable to make it past his mouth. He sighed, looking down at the small can of Sprite she had handed him, shaking it slightly, watching the liquid splash against the metal sides. Despite everything, he felt slightly better knowing that Tony might not have been as mad at him as he thought… or maybe he misread the situation… or maybe he was just some stupid kid. Peter, this is a lot of blood…
Marlene cleared her throat, “Now, honey, are you feeling any better?”
Peter nodded slowly, glancing up, “T-Thank you.”
The woman smiled warmly, running her hand through his hair and for a minute, a solid minute, Peter didn’t yearn for May to be here instead. Marlene pressed her hand against his temple, “Okay. How about I go grab you a new change of clothes, and you and your father can get you changed so he can take you home?”
Home. Yeah, home sounded nice. Peter. Peter? I-I really need you to stay awake…
…………………………………………………………………………………
If Peter had thought his week couldn’t get any worse, couldn’t escalate past him spewing his guts in front of Tony, couldn’t turn into an even more embarrassing shitshow of awkward humiliation, nauseating hallucinations and childish emotions, then he was sadly mistaken.
The rest of the drive to wherever in the hell Tony sought to take a sick kid, had gone surprisingly well, all things considered. Peter, for most of the drive, was slumped in the backseat, trying his best to convince himself that he was dreaming, only having to stop once more as not to decorate the backseat interior as well. Once out of the car, however, everything that seemed to be going alright, stopped.
Peter groaned loudly, pressing his head against the cold elevator door as the floor spun beneath him. He was finding it difficult to concentrate, difficult to properly piece together where he was or how he’d gotten here, but judging by the golden walls that surrounded him, he guessed it had something to do with Mr. Stark.
Peter pressed his cheek against the cold tiled floor, tears swelling in his eyes as hot sticky vomit dripped from his mouth, and he cried loudly as he glanced to see most of it looked bloody. He pressed his hand against the ground, pressing hard as he struggled to sit himself upright, pain shooting through his leg and he glanced down…
Peter flinched, feeling a hand on his shoulder and opened his eyes slowly, the multitudinous number of buttons dancing in front of him. The air around him was hot, heavy, hard to breathe. He felt himself swaying, crashing against someone harshly, as the elevator’s floor continued to spin. He needed to lie down. Standing was beginning to seem like a difficult option, and his legs felt cramped and shaky.
He heard a muffled voice, far away and distant, strong arms wrapping themselves around his bruised torso as he tried to remember where he was, who he was with, and what was happening. The 15-year-old winced as the hands pressed down against the bruise covering his left ribs, pain swallowing him momentarily as he bit his lip. The green bruise was almost gone, his healing factor a bit slower this go around than before, so the broken ribs beneath the discolored skin was taking a few extra days to heal. A few extra days than it should…
He coughed loudly, feeling saliva drowning his mouth and he swallowed, closing his eyes against the harsh lights that pierced his eyes above him. His whole body hurt, his bones ached, and his mind fought the consciousness it so desperately clung to, as the teenager questioned whether this was the aftermath of a fight… or maybe he was sick. He felt sick. He felt wrong. He felt… something, and he remembered a soda.
He felt his legs moving, hands grasped around his torso, pressed against his shoulder, pushing him somewhere, guiding him. He sucked in another breath, tears beginning to swell in his eyes, his throat rough and dry like sandpaper, and Peter yearned for something, anything, everything cold. He struggled slightly, having no strength, having no fight left in his body as his legs buckled quickly, forcing him against the person holding him.
He felt his stomach clench and let out a soft moan as bile rose in his throat, burning in his mouth and the teenager swallowed, gagging slightly. He felt someone push him down, pressing his shoulders against something soft as he whimpered weakly, pushing against the hands that forced him down, his eyes opening slowly to a spinning world and Tony’s worried face. Peter closed his eyes again, his body thankful it could finally lie down.
He felt something cold press against his forehead and Peter let out a soft sigh, leaning into the touch, thankful something cool had finally made its way to his burning forehead. He swallowed slowly, hoping the saliva drowning his mouth would coat his throat, “If you just give me a few minutes, Mr. Stark, you can t-take me home… don’t worry.”
Tony sucked in a breath as he moved his hand from the teenager’s forehead to his cheek. The warmth pressing against his skin was unsettling, and the fact that Peter thought Tony was going to take him home, to leave him there to fight whatever this was by himself, even more so. Tony ran a hand through Peter’s sweaty hair, “Despite what you might think, kiddo, I’m not heartless. I’m not just going to send some sick teenager home alone.”
The 15-year-old opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the multiple Tony’s looming in his vision. Confusion crossed his face as he tried to concentrate on Tony’s words. Peter nodded slowly, not really sure if he was supposed to be nodding, not really sure if he was supposed to be here. Wasn’t he supposed to be helping May repaint the kitchen? No, that was… next week? So, Vulture, May, Lisa, Avengers… was today Thursday then? Yeah, that sounded right.
“Mr. S-Stark? I, I don’t feel well,” Peter said softly, swallowing against the nausea summersaulting in his stomach. He gulped loudly, chills breaking out over his body as the heat that sat under his skin suddenly disappeared, suddenly replaced by cold sweat. He shivered slightly, tears sitting in his eyes as he tried to replay the events over the past week that led him here. Led him to this exact fucking moment.
Tony nodded, running a soft hand through his hair again, “I know, kid. I know. Just close your eyes and try to relax, try to sleep. You’re okay, trust me. You’re alright.”
…………………………………………………………………………………………
Tony pressed his screwdriver against the small device he was holding once more, tightening his grip around the plastic handle as his hand began to shake, the tiny screw wiggling in the hole, refusing to go in. This was the seventh time in the past hour he had tried to tighten one of the small bots he was working on, the seventh time he had tried to concentrate, tried to focus on something else, anything else besides the worried fear coursing through his veins. He sighed loudly, dropping both objects on the metal table harshly before leaning back in his chair, running his grease-covered hands over his tired face.
He glanced towards the clock hanging on the wall, leaning further back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table as he placed his hands behind his head. It was nearing midnight, and despite everything, Tony was finding it hard to sleep. FRIDAY had informed him about an hour ago that the kid was still asleep and had been ever since he passed out on the couch upstairs, but even after several quiet hours of sleep, Peter’s fever was still rising. Tony had tried calling Bruce, only to find out that the green bastard had somehow dropped off the face of the Earth. And it wasn’t long after that that Tony had wrestled with the idea of calling May Parker. Surely, she would want to know if her nephew was sick… but then again, this seemed like something Tony should be able to handle on his own.
Tony groaned loudly, jerking his head to the left as something shattered against the ground. A small smirk crossed his face as he glanced down at the broken bottle of wine pooling across the floor, Dum-E hanging over it, glancing between Tony and the bottle. Useless robot…
“Good job, Butterfingers,” Tony yawned, stretching his arms as Dum-E grabbed a towel from the counter and flung it down on the gray concrete before glancing back up at Tony. Tony sighed, rubbing away the exhaustion covering his face as he pushed away from the table, “Remind me again why I don’t just donate you?”
The older man knelt beside the mess, glancing up at the robotic arm hovering above him as it slowly backed away, knocking into a table. Tony shook his head, looking back down at the burgundy liquid, picking large pieces of glass off the floor before tossing them in the trashcan next to him. He pressed the towel down, hoping the old fabric would be able to soak up the wine before sitting down, pressing his back against the metal frame of the table. He glanced around his workshop slowly, hoping to spot U somewhere in the corner, or at least another bot that wasn’t Dum-E, to help finish cleaning up the tiny glass pieces.
“Boss?” FRIDAY’s voice echoed around him and Tony peered to his left, still hoping to catch a glimpse of dull silver, “Yeah? What’s up?”
“I just wanted to give you another update. Peter seems to still be asleep. His vitals are relatively fine, except his temperature still seems to be at 103.1.”
Tony nodded, running a hand through his hair, “Thanks, FRIDAY. Keep me updated.”
Tony sighed loudly, pushing himself off the floor as he glanced towards Dum-E, “Hey Dummy, stop being dramatic and help me clean this up.”
The robot dropped his head slightly, its claw pinching together as it came closer slowly, stopping a few inches from the mess. Tony groaned, “God, you’re a tragedy. You move slower than Rogers. Just- just sweep up the glass and leave the rest for tomorrow.”
The robot nodded slowly before gliding away in search for a broom. Tony yawned again, looking down at his hands, grimacing slightly at the amount of grease and rust that covered his palms. He looked around slowly, searching for a towel before rolling his eyes, wiping his hands across the knees of his pants. He walked back over to the small bot he’d been working on, flipping it over in his hand several times before sitting down, putting his feet back on the messy table. Across the room, he could hear glass scraping across the floor, and Tony closed his eyes briefly as Dum-E dropped the broom. Dunce.
Tony leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, letting his body relax, hoping he would be able to sleep peacefully through the night this time. He let his head hang off the back of the chair slightly as exhaustion flooded his mind, the night’s events playing in his head as the AC above him kicked on softly. He shivered lightly, wondering if he should check on Peter, or bring the kid another blanket.
It was about an hour after Peter had crashed, that Tony decided the kid would probably be more comfortable in an actual bed versus a stiff couch. However, waking the teenager proved to be a lot harder than Tony had anticipated, so he ended up half-dragging half-carrying a barely conscious teenager up some stairs and to one of the guest rooms at the end of the hall. This proved to be difficult in itself because not only was the small lanky teenager a little heavier than Tony had guessed, but every time Tony readjusted to get a better grip on Peter’s torso, the kid jerked away weakly, whimpering softly. It wasn’t until the 15-year-old had collapsed against the navy-blue sheets, his “I survived my trip to NYC” shirt riding up slightly, that Tony knew why.
Faint green and blue bruises litter Peter’s left side, standing out against the pale skin as several cuts that Tony could only assume had been bigger a few days ago, etched over the teenager’s pale flesh. Tony knew the kid had some bruising, he had seen it back at the convenient store, and he knew the kid’s healing factor sometimes took a while to heal wounds… but if they were still visible now, almost a week after the Vulture incident, then it had to have been bad… Hell, Tony saw the footage. The kid could have died. And that? That was something Tony wouldn’t have been able to live with.
…………………………………………………………………………………………
There was so much blood. So much blood, pooling across the white floor, drowning the crevice’s in dark crimson, oozing down Peter’s slender fingers as the 15-year-old forced himself into a sitting position, crying loudly. He wiped the bottom of his mouth, pulling his dirty hand back to see bright red vomit smeared across his shaking hand. He smacked it against the floor, looking down at the blood dripping between his fingers pressed against his right side, and moved his leg slightly, tears streaming down his face as he glanced down at the metal shard protruding from his right thigh. He let out another cry as he touched it gently, pain shooting through his body and he fought against the blackness that threatened to envelope him. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spiderman. Don’t pass out, don’t pass out, don’t-
“Peter?”
The teenager flinched, trying his best to move away from the person calling his name, fighting against his instincts telling him to leave, before looking up to see Ned standing in the doorway, his mouth open. Peter swallowed hard, biting his bottom lip as pain lit up his side again, “Ned? Wha-what are you doing here?”
The other boy stood there, his mouth hanging open as shock and fear froze his body, and he turned slightly, his eyes tracing over the red stains covering the floor, wall, sink; the blood, dirt, and smoke covering Peter’s face and body. He unconsciously ran a hand through his hair, trying to find it in him to snap back to reality, to snap back to the scene in front of him. He knew being Spiderman was dangerous sometimes… but he never would have guessed it could have been like this. There was just- so much blood… all of it from… all of it from Peter.
Peter smacked his head against the bathtub behind him, pressing harder against his side as he struggled to hold onto any bit of consciousness he could find, “Ned!”
Ned gulped, stepping slowly into the bathroom, “I- you’re, I lost contact with you sh-shortly after you stole Flash’s car, and I-I wanted to make sure you were okay. God, Peter, th-this is a lot of blood…”
The teenager jerked awake, breathing harshly as sweat covered his trembling body. His stomach clenched violently, forcing Peter into a sitting position quickly, trying his best to swallow down the foul-tasting saliva as his body pitched forward instinctively. He gripped at his abdomen harshly, pressing his fingers against the mostly healed wound, as vomit spewed past his chapped lips, dripping down his chin and pooling across the shiny blue comforter, and Peter whimpered loudly.
His stomach flipped again, and the teenager groaned, forcing the covers off his body, pressing his feet against the cold floor swiftly, before standing, his legs shaking, refusing to hold his body up as he slammed against the wall besides him, pain searing through his shoulder as something snapped. The 15-year-old stumbled, slamming against the nightstand, flinching as something flew off, crashing to the ground. He looked down as something sharp collided with his toes, and paused, trying his best to figure out why broken glass covered his feet, meshed between his toes…
His stomach lurched, and Peter forced himself away from the wall harshly, his hand still covering his side and he stumbled blindly through the unfamiliar darkness...
…Peter sucked in a breath, biting back a strangled cry as he shifted his legs, trying to pull them closer so he could get his shoes off. He slumped forward weakly, the world around him slipping in and out of focus, his legs refusing to move further than a few inches. Shit. Shit! SHIT.
He looked up slowly as something pulled at his left shoe and smiled weakly as his eyes connected with Ned’s. Ned tried his best to slip the converse off as gently as possible, swallowing shallowly as he glanced down at the blood beginning to coat his hands, panic painting his face. He looked towards Peter, scooting closer as he fumbled with the zipper of Peter’s homemade Spiderman costume. He paused briefly as Peter groaned, looking down at his hand pressed against his side, and Ned followed his gaze, swallowing back the tears that threatened to swell in his eyes.
This was too much. This was all just too much. He was 15. He should be playing videogames, building Death Stars, and chasing after girls he probably never had a chance with… not stuck in a bathroom at 1am, wiping blood from his best friend’s face as he tried to keep him conscious. This was something an adult should be handling… hell, this was something Ned wanted an adult to handle. But there wasn’t anyone else around. Just him. Just the guy in the chair.
Ned cleared his throat, reaching for Peter’s jacket zipper again, “Peter, I-I really need you to stay awake, okay? I ne-need you to help me through this because I don’t know what to do… But, you’ll be okay. I promise, dude. You’ll be okay…”
Peter groaned as his body fell against the wall behind him and lights flicked on, filling the open hallway with harsh light as someone’s voice echoed around him. His body slid against the rough wall slightly, sweat running down his face as his legs refused to hold him up any longer. Heat enveloped his body and the teenager let out a ragged breath as thick hot oxygen filled his lungs, making it hard to concentrate on the twisting hallway around him.
His knees buckled, gravity forcing him to the ground firmly, his knees smacking against the floor as his hand meshed against the red rug and Peter let out a strangled cry. His side burned fiercely, and the 15-year-old glanced down, pulling his hand from his abdomen gently, his eyes widening as dark crimson covered his hand. Something loud echoed around him and Peter shivered slightly, sweat dripping from his chin, soaking through his shirt. The cold wooden walls disappearing from his vision, replaced by harsh and unforgivingly hot cement. He shivered again, nausea coursing through his body as saliva filled his mouth, pooling from his cracked lips as he struggled to take in another shallow hot breath. What the fuck…
Confusion crossed his face as he slowly glanced around, the cement posts in front of him shifting violently as he tried to concentrate on the moving figure a few feet away. He couldn’t concentrate. He couldn’t focus. The air around him was almost unbreathable, and the fire burning against his skin was making it hard to move, hard to think properly. He swallowed against the lump in his throat as he scraped his hand roughly against the dirty cement floor, a shiver running down his spine as he forced himself to stand on legs that refused to cooperate…
“Peter, the metal… its really deep,” Ned sucked in a breath, his fingers ghosting over the 4-inch metal shard piercing through the other boy’s sweatpants. Peter winced, leaning his head against the tub harshly, biting his lip as tears flowed silently down his face. He needed to be brave. He needed to be strong… for Ned’s sake and his own. Besides, he was Spiderman- he was a hero, and heroes could handle a little pain.
Peter let out a ragged breath, blinking quickly, trying to clear his vision as he stared at the water stains on the ceiling, his hand pressing harder against his side as he tried to keep himself from passing out. He let out another breath, “N-Ned. I, I need you to pull it out. I-I’m losing too much blood, and I don’t know how long I can stay awake.”
Ned shook his head, “No. No, Peter. Don’t you pay attention in Health- that’s, that’s not a good idea. You’ll bleed out, and-”
Peter shifted slightly, coughing harshly, bloody saliva filling his mouth again and he swallowed repetitively as he forced his head up, “My healing factor will ta-take care of it. Just wrap it, apply pressure- I’ll start to he-heal in a few hours…”
Ned shook his head. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way in hell this was happening. Having a superhero for a best friend was supposed to be fun and cool- like in the comics he and Peter used to read as kids. It wasn’t supposed to be like this! Ned swallowed, his hand hovering over the metal, a lump in his throat beginning to form as tears flooded his eyes, spilling down his cheeks, “No. Peter, I can’t. I can’t, what if I mess it up? What if you die? I-I can’t lose you. You’re my best friend. P-please, I can’t lose you.”
Peter smiled weakly, his head swimming as black slowly started to fill his vision, his body growing numb, “You- you’re my best friend too, Ned… that’s why, that’s why you have to do this. You’ll be okay. It’ll b-be okay. You won’t mess up because you’re my guy in the chair. I-I’m not goi-going to die…” I hope, he thought as the darkness swallowed him whole, and a cold silence washed over him.
Peter swallowed loudly, pressing his aching shoulder against the cold wall, trying his best to stand up straighter as his vision cleared, as dread weighed heavily in his stomach… as he realized where he was. He backed up slowly, his sweat drenched shirt sticking against the cement as he pressed the back of his head against the wall forcefully, hoping, praying that this wasn’t real. He gulped loudly, his stomach struggling against him as his body pitched forward and Peter clenched his mouth shut, refusing to retch, refusing to take his eyes off Adrian Toomes.
The 15-year-old moved his hand against the wall slowly, hoping he could find something, anything to keep him upright, anything to keep himself from being crushed again. His head pounded, the pulsating ache in rhythm with his heartbeat as he let out a small whimper, his body trying to bring him down as he forced himself stay vertical, to stay conscious. Adrian paused briefly, confusion crossing his face before a smirk toyed with his lips, “Well, hello there, Pete… You know, you shouldn’t have left the dance, kid.”
Every fiber in Peter’s body screamed as he stepped away from the wall, standing up straighter, standing against the swaying world around him. He clenched his fists, sucking in a shallow breath as he struggled to take in the heavy air, as he tried to appear normal. Come on, Peter. Come on, Spiderman. Mr. Stark isn’t going to save you from this…
Toomes laughed loudly, turning around, walking back to the table in front of him as Peter took a shaky step forward. He glanced down at his hands, noticing if for the first time, they were covered in blood. Pain shot through his abdomen, and Peter bit the inside of his cheek, letting a stale coppery taste fill his mouth as he watched crimson bleeding through his thin white shirt.
“Peter!”
Peter jerked his head up, wiping away the sweat dripping in his eyes as something moved to his right and the teenager slammed against the cement behind him. His head smacked against the wall harshly and for a second, or a solid second, his vision turned black. His knees buckled, and he crashed against the ground weakly, grasping onto the pillar next to him, forcing himself from faceplanting. He closed his eyes, feeling his body swaying, feeling the ground beneath him moving as he struggled to remember where he was, as he tried to remember why it was so hot…
…Pain. White hot searing pain flowed through his body and Peter screamed loudly as strong hands held him down. He pushed against them, trying his best to stop whoever was causing him pain, tears flooding his face, begging, pleading filling his mouth. The teenager coughed harshly, retching, the taste of blood lingering in the back of his throat as he struggled- as the blinding, paralyzing pain returned, and he screamed again…
Something sharp pierced his leg and Peter cried loudly, gripping his calf feeling the heat burning against his flesh, as his body swayed, and he crashed against the ground. He let out another strangled cry as he took a ragged breath, breathing in the sand and dirt surrounding him, forcing air from his lungs as he struggled to breathe. He coughed harshly, his stomach groaning, smoke and soot filling his lungs as he forced his head up, glancing around the beach weakly. He heard someone shout his name and looked up to see the Vulture looming over him, murder shining in his eyes, death twisting at his lips. Peter didn’t remember leaving the garage.
“You’ve got guts kid, I’ll give you that… But you’re no hero,” Toomes yelled, stepping back slightly, “You couldn’t save them- any of them. And soon, soon May, Ned, and Tony will die, and it will all be your fault… just like Ben was.”
Peter squirmed, trying his best to push himself from the ground, pressing his hands against the burning sand, his arms lacking the strength to push himself up all the way. He let out a choked whimper, tears filling his eyes, heat burning against his leg, spreading upward, coursing through his veins in a fiery rush as his stomach clenched tightly. He swallowed thickly as Toomes came closer, pressing his foot against the teenager’s shoulder, trying to force him back down as something exploded behind him. Peter pushed him away harshly, pushing himself up, tears streaming down his face, his back pressed against one Mr. Stark’s burning boxes.
“G-get away from me,” He whispered. The 15-year-old swallowed dryly, his voice sounded weak and pathetic, not at all how a superhero was supposed to sound. Peter shivered. Toomes sighed, stepping closer, “I’m trying to help you, kid.”
Peter shook his head, nausea twisting in his stomach, his movements weak and uncoordinated as he tried to scoot away. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to go… not yet- this wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. The good guys always won. He didn’t want to die!
Something bright flashed across his face and Peter winced, vomit rushing up his throat, drowning his mouth, flooding down his chin as the scenery around him shifted and morphed. The Vulture’s face contorted, and bright light filled Peter’s vision as he leaned over, retching again, someone pressing their hands firmly against his shoulders as he slumped forward, his body refusing to support him any longer. He coughed loudly, sucking in a hot breath as the fire that filled his veins burned his body from the inside out. He heard talking, whispering, a voice far away, shouting, saying things he couldn’t grasp.
Someone pulled him up and Peter sucked in another breath as his aching head pressed against something soft and cool, the sound of a heartbeat echoing in his ears, the smell of whiskey and motor grease filling his nostrils. The teenager gagged again, his head falling back weakly, his arms dropping to his sides, his breathing coming in harsh sporadic waves. It was hot. It was too fucking hot. Toomes was right… Peter wasn’t a hero. He was too fucking weak… He was just some stupid kid from Queens.
………………………………………………………………………………………
He was drowning again. Cold water washed over his face, burning against his skin, flooding his nostrils, flooding his lungs and Peter struggled, trying to find the parachutes opening- trying to break free. He screamed loudly, tears spilling down his face, mixing with the water that fell over him as he pressed against something solid. Strong arms gripped his arms, forcing him still and Peter thrashed, pushing away his captor harshly as water soaked through his clothes.
Water drowned his mouth, forcing its way down his dry throat and Peter choked, coughing harshly as his stomach clenched in sickening waves. He retched loudly, bringing up anything, everything he had eaten over the past week, anything his stomach could muster up. The arms around him loosened their grip and the teenager pulled away, slamming against the wall behind him with a loud smack, trying to get out, trying to get away, trying to figure out why the water that splashed against his skin burned. He cried loudly, begging for someone to help him, crying for Mr. Stark to keep him from drowning. He didn’t want to be in the water. He didn’t want to drown again. He didn’t want to die.
Tony grasped the kid harder, his back slamming against the shower wall behind him as the teenager’s fist collided with his face. The older man swallowed, spitting blood from his mouth as he grabbed Peter’s wrists again, pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around his shoulders tightly as Peter squirmed. Tony winced as the kid pushed against his chest, forcing him back, water dripping in his eyes as the kid screamed again, crying for May, yelling for Tony. Tony let out a slow breath, “It’s okay, Peter. It’s alright, kid. I’ve got you. I have you. You’re safe.”
Peter’s legs wobbled harshly as his body gave out, his knees buckling as he dropped to his dead weight, the water around him disappearing until it was replaced by white tiled walls and shampoo bottles. He blinked slowly, tears filling his eyes again as the water that felt so hot it scorched the flesh under his clothes, cooled, steaming against the uncomfortable warmth that Peter realized flooded his body. He glanced down slowly as the arms around him tightened, pulling him up on legs that didn’t work, and he stumbled, falling against someone’s chest again, exhaustion overpowering his senses, his head spinning.
Tony ran his hand through the kid’s wet hair, clearing his throat, “You’re alright. You’re okay, Peter. I have you.”
The 15-year-old swallowed harshly, tears falling from his eyes as he grasped at Tony’s black shirt harshly, his head smacking against his shoulder. He let out a loud sob, shivering slightly as the water’s temperature changed, “It’s all my fault. They-they died, and it’s all my fault…”
“Kid,” Tony started, pressing his hand against the shower’s wall, feeling for the knob. The water running over them was beginning to turn cold which wasn’t surprising considering they had been in here a while. Tony’s foot slid across the ground and he pressed his hand harder against the wall, trying to keep from slipping. He glanced down to see an abandoned soap bar lying on the floor, rust-colored water rushing over it slowly, pushing it towards the drain.
Peter shifted, trying his best to stand up on his own, trying his best to push away, “I-I didn’t have the suit and it-it was all my fault…”
Tony cursed softly, turning back towards the wall, steam clouding his vision momentarily, his hand still sliding against the slick wall. His hand landed on the knob and he adjusted the water quickly before pressing the teenager harder against his chest. He took a shallow breath, running his hand through Peter’s hair once more as the kid collapsed, his body going limp completely.
Silence filled the bathroom, and Tony stood there for a while, listening to Peter’s uneven breathing. He let out a loud sigh, glancing up at the speckled ceiling, adjusting his grip on the kid’s torso gently. He swallowed, closing his eyes as panic swelled in his chest, a lump forming in his throat. Tony had watched the news that night. He knew of the causalities… he knew about the damage, but he didn’t think…
The 15-year-old whimpered softly, causing Tony to glance back down, “Peter? You with me?”
He waited for a long time, waited for the teenager to respond. Water splashed against the ground harshly, jumping off the slick tiled floor peacefully, running between Tony’s toes, and he glanced down slowly. He pressed his lips together firmly, watching the pink water drip from Peter’s shirt, stained against the white fabric, the innocent shirt completely ruined… forever. He really hadn’t thought…
Tony sighed loudly, running his hand over the boy’s overheated back as Peter groaned softly, “It’s not your fault, kid. I promise, it’s not.” It’s mine.
………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Silence was the first thing that greeted him as he slowly opened his eyes. Darkness was the second. Peter groaned loudly, blinking several times as his eyes adjusted against the pale light shining in through his window. He laid there for a few minutes, listening to the busy nightlife of Queens, wondering if the news had hit, wondering if Happy had gotten his message… wondering if May knew.
The teenager sat up slowly, wincing as his side burned fiercely and he glanced down at the white bandages wrapped around his abdomen. His fingers ghosted over them softly, his hand shaking as he grasped the edge of it, tears filling his eyes as he wondered if he really wanted to unwrap them or not. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t that bad. It couldn’t have been…
“I wouldn’t do that, Peter.”
The 15-year-old jumped, forcing his body up as his Spidey senses kicked in. His feet meshed against the carpet and Peter swayed, grabbing onto the top bunk as he waited for his vision to readjust. Someone flipped on a lamp at his desk and Peter forced his hand out, shielding his eyes from the small light that flooded the room. He blinked several times before his vision cleared and his eyes met Ned’s.
Ned leaned forward, the old desk chair squeaking softly as he put his phone back on the desk. Peter sat down slowly, wincing as his leg started throbbing and he glanced down to see the same white bandages covering his thigh. The chair shifted, and the 15-year-old looked up to see Ned scooting closer. He sucked in a low breath as his eyes glanced over the dark red stains covering Ned’s shirt before he looked back up, running a hand through his hair.
“There was so much blood, Peter,” Ned said softly, coming closer until he was a few inches from the bed. Peter nodded slowly, “I know. I-I’m sorry, Ned. But… thank you.”
Ned was quiet for a long time, fiddling with the bottom button of his plaid shirt. He bit his lip as he leaned back against the chair, staring at the Millennium Falcon he and Peter had built over a year ago, sitting in the corner collecting dust. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat as he ran a shaky hand over his face. It was fine now. Peter was fine now. But what if- what if next time… he wasn’t…
Peter looked down at his hands, noticing dried blood and dirt still caked under his nails and he picked at it slowly. He heard Ned sigh, and glanced back up, clearing his throat, “Ned. I didn’t-”
“You could have died, Peter… you almost did,” Ned said, turning back towards his friend. Peter swallowed loudly, tears filling his eyes again as he noticed the ones flowing down Ned’s face. The other boy wiped at them harshly and Peter looked away, looking back up at the ceiling, smiling softly as the constellations glued to his ceiling still seemed to glow even after all these years. He hadn’t meant for Ned to see him like that, for anyone to see him like that… hell, he hadn’t meant for it to be that bad.
“I-I had to pull the metal out, and you- you started screaming…” Ned trailed off, sniffing loudly as he looked down, noticing pink stains dotting his laces, “And you kept pa-passing out, and there was just so much blood. I’m not good with blood. And I, I didn’t know what to do.”
Peter pressed his lips together as Ned choked, “I know.”
“No, you don’t. I thought having a superhero for a best friend would be cool. And tonight- for a second- I felt cool. I was helping you out. I- I was the guy in the chair! And you, you’re Spiderman! But, Peter, you could h-have-”
“Died,” Peter nodded, looking back towards Ned, tears spilling past his eyelids, “People could have died, Ned. More people could have died. And I had to go, I had to st-stop Toomes. It had to be me be-because no one else was going to do it.”
Peter paused, shifting slightly, pressing his hand against his side, “And Ned, I’m sorry. I-I’m so sorry. For everything. But if, if I had to do it all over again, I would.”
Silence filled the small bedroom and Peter leaned back, wincing as pain shot through his ribs. He pressed his back against the wall harshly, letting the cold wall mesh with his aching body, shivering slightly. He sniffed before clearing his throat, running his hand over the wool blanket covering the bed. The 15-year-old leaned his head against the wall, letting it hit the plaster with a loud thwack, turning his attention to the window, watching the lights from cars dance across the glass pane.
Ned sighed, “Me too.”
Peter let out a small breath he hadn’t known he was holding, “Thank you, Ned. Seriously. For everything.”
The other teenager laughed nervously, scooting a little closer, “Yeah… about that. I wouldn’t thank me just yet…”
Peter turned to face him, confusion masking his face, “Why?”
“Well… after I finished cleaning the bathroom, May came home and started asking me questions. And you know how I am under pressure, and I just started panicking because I didn’t know what to say and… and um, I sort of told her that Flash got you drunk,” Ned said softly, running a hand through his hair. Peter shot up, groaning loudly as his body rejected the sudden movement, “What!?”
Ned smiled sheepishly, “Yeah… it gets worse…”
“What did you do, Ned!” Peter pushed himself to the edge of the bed as Ned cleared his throat. He glanced down at his shoes before taking a few deep breaths and blurting out, “May’s going to call the school tomorrow and request to have a talk with Flash and his parents. Also, maybe, you might be in it for tomorrow…”
Peter groaned again, running a hand through his hair, “I’m so dead. I’m so fucking dead.”
Ned swallowed softly before giving Peter a small smile, “But on the plus side- you didn’t die, right? And you stopped the Vulture. I mean, Liz will never talk to you again, and Flash will want to kick your ass now, but…”
“Seriously dude!”
…………………………………………………………………………………………..
“Boss, should I give you an update?”
Tony forced his head up slowly as FRIDAY’s voice filled the small room. He yawned, running a hand over his face, squinting at the pale sunlight filtering in through the curtains before nodding, “Yes.”
“Peter’s vitals are fine now, and his temperature seems to have dropped significantly. It’s currently at 101.”
Tony sighed loudly, “Good. Thanks FRIDAY.”
Tony leaned forward slightly, pulling his arms in front of him, stretching quietly, before glancing down at the teenager sleeping next to him. He smirked slightly as the kid shifted to his stomach, his right arm falling off the bed dangerously, the sheet pulling closer to his chest as his foot slid off the bed. He shivered, his eyebrows scrunching together slowly as Tony pulled the comforter up higher, carefully avoiding the fresh bandages wrapped around Peter’s midsection.
The older man let his fingers linger against the kid’s back before his hand pressed against Peter’s cheek softly, and Tony let out a small breath. The kid was barely warm now. Tony leaned back, forcing his back against the bed’s wooden frame harshly, his fingers unconsciously running through the 15-year-old’s sweaty hair, pushing his bangs back gently. Peter let out a soft sigh, scooting closer until his forehead pressed against the side of the older man’s thigh.
Tony glanced at the bedside clock, running a hand over his tired face. It was nearing 11am now… and despite knowing May would be calling sometime later today to find out why she had gotten a call from the school telling her Peter had been absent, there was no way in hell Tony was going to wake him. He leaned his head back against the headboard once more, stretching his legs out in front of him, and crossed his arms. It had taken almost an hour and a half before the kid’s temperature started to go down. Hell… it had taken a lot longer for Tony to begin to relax.
The kid’s fever had spiked to 105. And despite telling himself he would check on Peter around 4 in the morning, Tony had fallen asleep in the workshop. It wasn’t until FRIDAY had woken him sometime around 5, and informed him that Peter was out of bed, that he realized he had messed up… big time. By the time Tony had gotten upstairs, the kid was already too far gone.
Tony swallowed loudly, pushing himself off the bed gently as he stood, stretching his arms towards the ceiling, pulling his t-shirt down slightly as he walked towards the bathroom. He flipped the light on, groaning against the harsh fluorescents that met his eyes, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror. He turned the faucet on slowly, cupping his hands, splashing cold water against his tired features, hoping it’d wake him up… because he wasn’t going to fall asleep this time. Not until he knew the kid was okay.
Tony pressed his hands against the white counter firmly, his eyes glancing towards the left corner of the mirror, watching Peter shift again. Tony sighed loudly, closing his eyes as panicked guilt washed over him. He really should have known… he should have thought…
Peter was pressed against the wall, his legs barely able to support his body by the time Tony had found him. The kid had been a mess, covered in vomit, sweat, tears, and what Tony had later found out, urine. Peter was scared out of his mind, reliving something that Tony couldn’t help him through… something Tony had caused. But that wasn’t what scared him the most. It was the blood.
Blood was seeping through the kid’s shirt, dripping from a wound on his side as Peter dug his nails into the healing flesh, splattering against the floor. Blood sliding down his leg, soaking through his sweatpants when the teenager had stumbled, knocking a lamp to the ground, the gash on his leg reopening from improper healing. Not to mention, after the kid had passed out in the shower, Tony had found out the 15-year-old’s shoulder was severely dislocated… something he wished he hadn’t had to deal with. He hadn’t thought the kid had gotten that hurt… all because Tony refused to believe the Vulture wasn’t any bigger than the FBI.
Peter whimpered softly, and Tony opened his eyes, glancing again towards that spot in the mirror, before turning around, leaning against the counter, the hard corner digging into his hip harshly. This had been his fault. Everything that had happened to the kid had been his fault. He almost let the kid die. All because he had taken away the one thing that could have protected Peter better than some homemade Halloween costume. All because he thought that if he took the suit away, then the kid would stop trying. But he should have known…Peter was his responsibility, and Tony… Tony had failed him.
………………………………………………………………………………………………..
The 15-year-old sat on the edge of the bed, gently skimming his feet across the soft carpet as the cold air swept across his naked chest and shoulders. He glanced down at his feet, ghosting his left foot over his right, tracing his big toe against the small scars. Most of the cuts were barely visible, having healed overnight, but a few still stood out against the pale flesh. Peter shivered.
He breathed deeply, running a hand through his hair before letting his hand fall against the bandages once again wrapped around his torso. He pressed his fingers against the edge gently, gripping the white fabric in his hand as he unwound it slowly holding his breath as he tried to remember how he’d gotten the wound. He let the binding fall against his lap as he touched the small red indentations on his side, each fingernail lining up exactly alongside the mark. The teenager let a soft breath.
“You did that.”
Peter glanced up, dropping his hand to his side, brushing against his grey pajama pants, shifting slightly as his eyes met Tony’s, “Mr. S-Stark?”
Tony stood in the doorway, pressing his shoulder against the doorframe as he crossed his arms over his chest. The older man had just finished talking to May, reassuring her that Peter was fine, that his fever had finally broken sometime last night and that the kid had slept all of Friday and most of Saturday morning. He let out a loud sigh, running a hand over the back of his neck as he watched Peter glance towards the wound again.
“Do you want to talk about it, Peter?” He asked slowly. The kid looked up, confusion crossing his face, “I don’t understand.”
Tony shook his head, pushing away from the doorframe, “I think you do, kiddo.”
Peter looked back down, shoving his back against the bedframe, pulling his knees to his chest. He swallowed loudly, pressing his back against the wooden frame harshly, letting the rough edges and corners cut into his flesh before wrapping his arms around his knees, his chin resting on top of his legs. He shook his head slowly as the bed dipped slightly and he peered up at Tony. He swallowed again.
Tony pressed his lips together, his eyes taking in Peter’s movements as the kid recoiled, “Did you know someone who is sick or hurt could take a lot longer to heal when they believe they shouldn’t be the one healing…”
Peter held his breath, biting the bottom of his lip as he looked down, “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t mean to burden you.”
“That’s not what I’m concerned about, kid,” Tony paused, “You should have gotten off that plane. You could have gotten yourself killed.”
Peter tightened his grip against his knees, swallowing down the panic rising in his throat, “I-I didn’t have a choice.”
Tony’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted slightly as he watched the expression on Peter’s face change, as the kid looked up, tears welling in his eyes. Tony swallowed, “What are you talking about, Peter?”
The 15-year-old let out a choked sob, wiping his eyes on his arm quickly, clearing his throat loudly as he turned away. He watched a bird land on the windowsill outside, pecking on the glass before flying away. He hadn’t meant for it to get this bad. He hadn’t meant for Ned to see him like that. He hadn’t meant to scar him. He hadn’t meant for Tony to be burdened by him. And he hadn’t meant to hurt those people… to cause such a mess.
The teenager let out a slow breath before looking back towards Tony, “I had to turn the plane around. I-I had to land it somewhere, somewhere where there weren’t many casualties, so that meant I had to stay, to make sure the plane crashed down over the boardwalk and not the city… but, but it didn’t work. Some people -some of them still died, some of them still will… and, and it’s my fault.”
Tony shook his head, looking towards the ceiling slowly. He closed his eyes briefly as the kid choked again. A year ago, when Spiderman appeared, Tony had become intrigued and it hadn’t taken him long to figure out a few things about him… about the mutation. When Tony found out that the friendly neighborhood superhero was just a kid, he became impressed… captivated almost, that a small kid from Queens was taking down bad guys, sticking his neck out and cleaning up messes that the Avengers didn’t have time to deal with. But over the past year, somewhere along the lines, whether it happened after Germany or before, Tony had forgotten Peter was just a kid… he had forgotten… forgotten until yesterday morning. Until he had to hold the kid up in the shower, while the teenager clung to him, asking, begging, crying for Tony to forgive him, claiming that everything that had happened over a week ago- the Vulture, the plane crashing, the boardwalk being destroyed, people dying- was all his fault. But it wasn’t. Peter was just a kid. And that was a huge burden to put on someone so young, on someone so innocent.
Peter sniffed as Tony opened his eyes, “It’s my responsibility to protect them. I-”
Tony looked down, shaking his head slowly, “Not if it means your life, Peter.”
The teenager paused, giving Tony a weird look. Confusion crossed his face as he wiped at the tears still spilling down his face, “With great power comes gre-”
“I don’t care how the saying goes,” Tony said, running a hand through his hair. He pushed off the bed, standing slowly, facing the door as he took in a quick breath. He could feel his blood pressure rising, he could feel the panic eating away at him, clawing his chest, and he clenched his hand, letting out a few short breaths. He closed his eyes again.
Peter scooted towards the edge of the bed, pressing his feet against the carpet, forcing his body to stand on weak legs as Tony spoke again, his voice low and soft, “If you die, it’s on my hands, Peter. If you die, I’ll have to live with that… and I can’t, kid. I won’t,” Tony took a quick breath, running a hand over his face as he tried his best to keep from hyperventilating, “Peter, I won’t- I can’t drag your body back to your Aunt and look her in the eyes, and explain- explain that I was the reason you died… I can’t live with that.”
Peter fell back against the bed again, his body trembling slightly from the excursion. He swallowed loudly, fear coursing through his veins as he stared towards Mr. Stark’s head. He hadn’t thought about that… about his Aunt. She’s been through so much already… I mean, Ned would eventually be okay… but May?
Peter coughed, “Mr. Stark, I just did what you would have done. I wanted to be like you.”
Tony nodded, taking another breath, “I know, and I want you to be better.” That’s what worries me.
He turned around, pressing his thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose. He stood there for a while, trying his best to keep his composure, taking slow breathes, counting softly, doing what Pepper had told him to do when he was close to a panic attack. He let the silence comfort him, listening only to the soft rustling of the bedsheets as Peter shifted again, before opening his eyes.
“I’m not a great man, Peter. I’ve done things, said things, hurt people who care about me, burned bridges I can’t rebuild. I’ve destroyed lives, killed thousands of innocent people. I’ve done things I can’t come back from, kid. Things that haunt me every day and every night,” Tony said softly.
“Ho-how do you deal?” Peter asked, looking down at his hands, messing with the dirt under his nails, motionless tears sitting in his eyes. He swallowed loudly before glancing back towards Tony. Tony snorted quietly, “With whiskey mostly…”
Peter smiled weakly, stretching his legs in front of him as his muscles began to ache. He pressed his palms into his eye sockets, wiping away the tears threatening to spill. He swallowed again, shivering slightly as the AC kicked on, awkward silence filling the room again. Tony sighed, walking back over towards the bed, “You can’t just bury stuff like this and hope it goes away… because it doesn’t. Trust me kid, I know.”
Peter nodded, looking down as he pulled his knees to his chest once more. He scooted back again as the bed dipped and Tony sat down next to him, “I just- I just keep thinking that if- if I could have gotten to the plane sooner. If I had the suit, I could have saved them…”
Tony sighed, “First things first, kid. What happened- all of it- it wasn’t your fault. None of it was. It was mine- so stop blaming yourself. And second, Peter, and this is the big one. We can’t save everyone.”
The kid flinched slightly, stilling, his muscles tensing as he let out a small breath. Tony exhaled slowly, “It doesn’t matter how hard we try, or how strong we are. Sometimes the bad guys- sometimes they win, and there isn’t anything we can do about it. Sometimes the people we love, the people we care about, die- and we can’t stop it. The first thing about being a hero, kid, is knowing that you can’t save everyone… But if you blame yourself every time, if you continue to convince yourself that you aren’t worth saving because you couldn’t save those you’ve lost… then this guilt, this blame- it will eat you alive. It will consume you until there is nothing left.”
Peter let out a loud sob, burying his head in his hands as his body trembled softly. Tony swallowed, glancing down at the teenager, before putting his arm around his shoulder and pulling him close, letting the kid rest his head against his shoulder as Peter choked. Tony rested his chin on top of the kid’s head, closing his eyes, letting the kid cry.
“Peter, listen to me,” Tony said gently, tightening his grip on the teenager’s shoulder, “You have more courage, more guts and reckless bravery than probably half of Fury’s team, and you have more heart than the rest of us, kid… but, you have to let this go, because it wasn’t your fault. You have to stop pretending that you’re alright when you’re not. You have to talk to someone when you feel like you’re downing, kid… otherwise you’ll end up like Happy.”
Peter inhaled, choking slightly before laughing. Tony smiled, squeezing the kid’s shoulder lightly as the teenager coughed again, wiping the tears gathering at the bottom of his chin with the back of his hand. He cleared his throat, “Kid, sometimes you can’t save anyone unless you save yourself first… and sometimes, sometimes, the only way to save yourself is by saving others. You don’t need to keep trying to prove yourself- you’re a great superhero, Peter. Hell, you’re a great kid… but you still have a lot to learn about growing up.”
Silence flooded the room again, hovering above them heavily in familiar waves, and Tony exhaled loudly, running his hand over Peter’s arm slightly. He wasn’t good with kids- especially emotionally compromised, sick kids. And he wasn’t good with hugs either… affection wasn’t his area, but despite this, he sat there for a long time, letting Peter calm down on his own, not daring to move or break away until the kid did.
The 15-year-old swallowed, pushing his head away from Tony’s shoulder, wiping at the remaining tears in his eyes. Embarrassment washed over him, mixing with an exhaustion he hadn’t realized had been there, and he felt his face heat up, red creeping across his features slowly. He felt drained, weak, and hungry… and yet, past all the shit that happened since Friday, Peter somehow, in some way, felt relieved. He felt calm. He felt normal.
Tony cleared his throat, standing slowly, glancing back at Peter, giving him a smile. He ran a hand over the back of his neck before turning towards his dresser, opening a drawer at the bottom, rummaging through it, pulling out an old shirt. He glanced back towards the teenager, surprised to find him getting to his feet, a hand still pressed to his abdomen gently. Tony put his hand up, “Where do you think you’re going, Underoos? You’re still sick.”
Peter paused, looking up, dropping his hand to his side. He shifted awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, biting his bottom lip, “I, um, I’m hungry…”
Tony snorted, looking down at the shirt clasped in his hand. He nodded slowly before throwing it towards the kid, “Alright. But if you fall, don’t expect me to catch you every time.”
The 15-year-old smiled softly, nodding, pushing the shirt over his head before looking down at the t-shirt. He smirked, glancing back up, “Mr. Stark, um… why do you have a Footloose shirt? You know this movie was never cool, right?”